There exists a world
by hikachu
Summary: Five AU snippets; BeaBato; misc. genres.
1. more vital than sane

**1. **_more vital than sane_

This is a world made of plastic and concrete. Leaves and flowers and little birds are made of aluminum: delicate, carefully chiseled and cold; and if the sea still exists in a place that isn't holograms and ancient pictures from ancient textbooks, Battler hasn't seen it. His family is quite rich – enough to get little Ange a real kitten for her birthday – but not enough to pay for such a long trip.

There are very few cities in this world of plastic, yet the buildings are too many and too spacious for the few people inhabiting them. Most people are too poor to afford food, so they spend their days wandering through the city like ghosts, wishing for a warmth that doesn't exist anymore.

This world is dying, and nobody really wants to remember that: there are low-quality – practically deadly – drugs and cheap booze for the poor; opium and meaningless entertainment for those who have (more than) enough money. Battler has never been interested in either. As a child, he had decided that he would discover new places, places where trees still grow and cicadas cry during summer, and fight villains, and then he and his cousins and Ange and Shannon and Kanon would all live in that small oasis, without the stupid adults telling them what to do or say. He was fourteen when he stopped believing that these dreams would come true and his own world became grey and boring like the grown-ups'. He's almost a man the day he meets her.

She's beautiful like sunlight, and he can see the sea in her eyes. The first thing he learns about her is that she's absolutely tone deaf: "Take me… someplace far away…" she sings off-key, grinning, almost smirking; all the while she stares at him. It feels like a challenge and Battler shivers, barely paying attention to the crooked, sad song that leaves her mouth. A week after their encounter, they are living together.

Beatrice is like a flame. Eternally burning. Eternally dancing and so colorful, even in this grey, grey world…

They spend their days arguing over trivial matters, playing chess, laughing and kissing. Sometimes, children come over, asking Beato to fix their toys or to turn the rain into candy falling from the sky (she's arrogant and selfish, but somehow she gets along better with children than she does with adults); every time this happens she smiles mysteriously and creates a small miracle for each one of the children. When they're alone, Battler asks her: what's the trick, but she only scowls and pouts in response and once they even fight, and after that he doesn't ask anymore.

There is a small tattoo on Beato's skin, where her slender neck meets her right shoulder: it's a green clover with four round leaves; its upper part, for some reason, is darker, almost black, like an old picture corroded by time. Usually, it's hidden by the lacy chokers or thick necklaces she wears. One day – it's almost dawn and she believes he's still asleep – Battler sees her staring into the darkness of their bedroom with an expression he has never seen on her face, one hand covering the tattoo, fingernails biting into her flesh. And then his heart breaks just a little as he wonders if Beato doesn't wear the chokers and the necklaces because she wants to forget about the clover.

"If you knew when your happiness will end," she asks him that morning, "would that still be happiness, or would it turn into sorrow…"

Battler blinks. Sometimes Beatrice talks of things he doesn't understand at all, she tries to make him see things he has never noticed in his whole life. But this is the first time he's unsettled by her words. He doesn't know what to say or if he wants to understand. He's saved by the pungent smell of their breakfast burning; really, he thinks, forgetting his worries almost at once, Beatrice could probably burn even water.

Three weeks after that day, Battler wakes up to the sunlight flooding their room, but Beatrice's fingers wrap around his wrist as soon as he tries to get up.

"Let go. It's already morning," he pokes her forehead but other than that makes no effort to free himself.

"Hmm, let's go to the sea: I've never been there. I want to see the sea, Battleeer."

"Wha…?" he shakes his head. "It's too far. It would take a month, maybe even more without the—"

Beatrice looks at him with eyes wide open, like a disappointed child. "R-Really…?" He nods. For a brief moment she looks almost sad and Battler's heart almost sinks like that morning—almost, because soon she's laughing again, loud and shrill, like she always does.

"Let's stay here then," she says—orders, really, and tugs at his wrist with enough strength to make him lose his balance and fall on top of her. "Stay with me today."

He should get up because he has things to do; Battler knows he should, but instead he returns her mischievous grin and kisses her on the mouth. Today, for some reason, he feels that he should humor her, let her act like the spoiled princess she is. They make love and all day long they feed only on each other's gasps, whispers, scent. It's evening when Beatrice tells him, I love you. Battler blushes, laughs stupidly and calls her an idiot, but then he's muttering the same words into her hair.

"Hey Battler," she says before falling asleep on his chest, "next time, take me to the sea, okay?"

"Sure, sure," he sighs. He's tired and she really loves making unreasonable requests.

"Promise?"

He blinks, freezes for a moment. "… Yeah. I promise. Next time…" – but he doesn't know when 'next time' is supposed to be – "… we'll go together to the sea."

"Good. I'll be waiting then, no matter how long it takes! Don't you dare forget!" And then she closes her eyes ignoring the other's questions and protests.

In the morning, Battler is awakened by the recollection of a melancholic song: it's a memory from a month ago.

_I want happiness… I seek happiness…_

"Beato… Wake up, Beato…!"

Beatrice is like a doll in his arms.

_To cause your happiness… To be your happiness…_

"Oi, idiot! We can't—!"

He sees the tiny clover: completely black now. It stands out too much against her pale skin, he thinks, and he still doesn't understand, doesn't realize why or what is happening, but he cries. Like a child, he cries.

_So take me… someplace far way…_

"You idiot…" he murmurs, voice breaking as he presses his forehead against her neck, "How long are _you_ going to make me wait now…?"

… _to a true Elsewhere… please, take me there…_

_

* * *

_

**notes** this ficlet is based off Clamp's _Clover_; the song Beato sings is taken from said manga as well.


	2. at the end of the secret path

**notes** the following ficlet takes place in the _Loveless_ universe.

* * *

**2.** _at the end of the secret path_

Today was the day. Battler had been dreaming about this moment for years, like every other Fighter—no, maybe even more than that: finding his Sacrifice, after all, hadn't been exactly easy, and he was already eighteen, while most pairs usually met during their childhood or early adolescence. He knew nothing about this person, but he had been praying since the day his – their – name appeared on his chest: please, let it be a cute girl!, and he truly hoped that someone up there had been listening to his prayers.

Battler's mouth fell open and he could barely hold back a gasp when the door opened. This was perfect. His Sacrifice was a young woman with blond hair and a curvaceous body and—

"Y-You don't have your ears!"

"You still have your ears!"

The woman invaded his personal space as if it were the most natural thing to and cupped his face between her hands.

"Kihihihi, how cute! I've been told that you'll be starting college soon, and yet you still have your ears? I see, I see… to think that my Fighter would be such a cute, innocent kid…!"

"Hey! Don't look down on me!" he said and slapped her hands away. His face was completely red.

She pouted, trying to look hurt. "My, my. So cute and yet so cruel… Is it because you're so mean to women that you haven't lost your ears yet…?"

"Tha, That's none of your business—!"

But his words didn't reach her at all. Her face lit up and she smiled. "It's okay: don't be embarrassed," she said, and Battler shuddered.

"Kukuku… Now that I'm here, I'll help you with that…"

He couldn't decide if her expression resembled that of someone looking at a cute kitten or that of a starving man staring at his favorite dish.

"…I caaan't wait to take them myself~"

And then Battler ran. He ran and ran and ran. As fast as he could.

(But in the end it was all useless.)


	3. The fairytale trapped in its own image

**3. **_the fairy-tale trapped in its own image_

"Sheath your sword, young knight~ Or I could think that you have come here to harm me, and I don't really feel like turning someone into a lump of flesh and broken bones when it's tea time, you seeeeeeee?"

Battler turned towards the source of that laughing voice and saw a young woman dressed in heavy, crimson velvet, sitting on a wooden chair. Before her, a small round table filled with all kinds of sugary delicacies and a steaming cup of sweet-smelling tea.

Forcing a grin in spite of the tension that he felt heavier than the armor on his body, Battler replied. "Sorry, but no can do."

"Kukuku, what is it, what is it? You don't trust me?"

"Ihihi… it's just that it's too early for me to die. Besides, you sure suck at being a good host: didn't they teach you how to greet a guest when you were a kid—if you have ever been a kid, that is."

What happened next was something that Battler could have never anticipated: she blushed and adverted her gaze.

"O-Of course I have! Are you truly that stupid? M-Moreover, you're one to talk! Why should I, Beatrice the Golden, worry about properly greeting an uninvited guest?"

"Ah, so I got the right mansion and the right witch, after all!" he took another step towards her and squinted his eyes, "Now that I look a little closer, you do look like a thousand year old hag alright."

It was clear, from the way she was biting her lower lip, that Beatrice's first impulse had been to shout or maybe even hurt him in response, but all she did was leaving the table to stand in front of Battler.

"I see how it is… So then, are you here to challenge me? You're just the kind of man that I'd love to see break slowly. Kyahahahaha!"

"Heh, don't get too excited, you damned witch: I'm not here to play with you."

"Hoh? Why are you here then? There are no princesses who need to be saved in this place!" then Beatrice's eyes widened, as if she had just realized something. "Kihihihihi… tell me, _noble knight_, are you here for the philosopher's stone? Do you think that someone as worthless as you would be granted the power to turn lead into gold and eternal life just by obtaining that? I'm right, aren't I? men are all after the same thing, after all."

"Ah, it's useless, isn't it? You just don't get it," Battler said and shook his head, grinning, "Sure, it'd be nice to have an easy life, but I'm not interested in any of that crap. I've been asked to bring you to the castle: they need their alchemist, that's what they said."

The witch's eyes widened for a moment and then she was looking at Battler as if he had grown a second head. "Kukukuku… Hyahahahaha! Is the royal family really that ignorant? Or did they believe that a foolish boy like you could bring forth a miracle?" her eyes narrowed, and although she did not stop smiling tauntingly, there was something darker, almost pained, about her expression. "I cannot leave this place. Not even if I wanted to. Go back and tell them—"

"I don't understand the situation too well, but… I've been told that you can – if I am the one taking you outside, you can leave this mansion."

Beatrice walked closer to him. "Who are you?"

"Ushiromiya Battler. You'd better remember it."

"Ushi…" she fell silent suddenly and then laughed, laughed, laughed. "Ku… Hyahahahahahahaha! No wonder you looked so familiar…!"

"Huh? What's so funny? Does my name make you laugh, stupid witch!"

"Kukikikiki… Ahh, I wonder what would that old fool say if he saw this…! Hmmm. Very well then, Ushiromiya Battler… I will come with you. However… it's not because I care about the royal family or your request. Like I said," she explained, grabbing his arm, "I will enjoy playing with you until you break! And even then, I will just need to fix you and we will play again!"

"Ihihi, whatever you say. I'm sure I will have fun too anyway." Ah yes, he was definitely going to enjoy himself, Battler thought as he glanced down at the other's voluptuous chest – now pressed against his arm.

Knight or not, royal blood or not, he'd ended up with a witch instead of a princess, but something told him that it wouldn't be so bad.


	4. a longing pervades the world

**4.** _a longing pervades the world_

Their first meeting back in high school had been a life-changing event for them both. After that fateful day, in fact, peaceful days became a rare treat in their life, and they spent weeks—months, fighting and playing pranks on each other, and a couple times, when things had unexpectedly gotten out of hand, Battler had even been forced to pay a visit to the hospital because of a broken bone or two.

He didn't stop talking to Beatrice the first time it happened (the unspoken challenge between them had unspoken rules too, and he knew she would never hurt him like that intentionally, he reasoned) and when it happened the second time… they finally got together.

This time the accident was to be blamed on Beatrice's clumsiness and an open window on the second floor; Battler, who inherited his recklessness from generations and generations of Ushiromiya, happened to be there too when the girl lost her balance and fell out of said window. What happened next was that Battler woke up in a hospital room, right arm and leg broken, alone with a sobbing Beato sitting on a plastic chair next to his bed. She kept calling him idiot and insisting that no, she wasn't crying, why would she cry for a man like him, and Battler, even with all the verbal abuse and the physical pain, decided that he didn't like to see her cry—she was, after all, pretty cute when she laughed in that unrefined way, and he thought that it would be a good idea to tell her that – maybe she would stop crying. And she did, but just for a moment – she gave her face enough time to turn red and then she was crying again. The beginning of their relationship was yet another silent agreement between them: Beato only warned him that, should he ever _glance_ at another woman, he'd be _dead_, and Battler only blushed a little when she helped him eat instead of teasing her.

They didn't announce it or anything, but everyone at school understood what had happened when he returned (although his leg hadn't healed yet) and stood closer – much closer than before – to Beatrice. They didn't stop fighting and even when they did try to act like a couple the result was always… not outright ridiculous, but not even romantic. Or normal. But it was sweet and it was enough in a way that suited them. When graduation was less than a month away, it was obvious that they would most probably spend the rest of their lives together.

And in fact they had barely finished college when they got married and moved in together in a small apartment. They bickered everyday, and everyday they woke up to each other's warmth, limbs tangled and skin against skin. Sometimes, during particularly warm summer nights, one of them would mumble, frowning: "Get off me," but no matter with how much annoyance these words were muttered, the other would always ignore them and scoot even closer.

Certain things between them would never change, no matter how many years had passed since their first meeting: Battler was still an idiot and a pervert (not that his wife was much more innocent than him…) and Beato's experiments in the kitchen were still as deadly as they had been the first time she tried to make cookies with Virgilia's help, at the tender age of eight.

For example, there had been that time when she had tried to make lunch…

"U-Uwaaa, Battleeeer!"

Hearing his wife cry out like that, Battler had dashed into the kitchen immediately, features twisted into a worried expression. After all, it wasn't like her to scream like that: desperate, as if she were crying. Except for those times when he had hurt her so badly that she couldn't even bring herself to scowl and kick him in the stomach in response (not that Battler did that on purpose—women were just too hard to understand and understanding Beato was outright impossible: in fact, he had lost count of the times he had apologized to her without even knowing _why_).

"Beato!" he grasped her shoulders and she turned around to look at him, "What's wrong?"

Her eyes were filled with tears. "Uhh… Battler… my… my finger! I-I… chopped it off…!"

"Wha—What!"

Alarmed, Battler glanced at the knife and vegetables scattered across the chopping board: yes, there was some blood staining the wooden surface but it was definitely a lot less than he had expected, but he was still so worried that he barely registered that and his hands were already carefully cupping Beatrice's injured one, when something on the chopping board caught his attention…

"Beato…"

"Y-Yes?"

"That's not your finger… IT'S JUST A GODDAMN CARROT!"

The blood, indeed, came from a small, utterly insignificant cut on Beato's – still whole – finger.

They both stared at her hand for a long moment with very different expressions. Battler was furious. Beatrice was mortified.

"Mu… you could still… kiss it better, you know," she muttered after a while to break the uncomfortable silence.

But Battler – who normally would have used this chance to tease her and maybe have some fun together before lunch – was still too pissed for having been made worry for nothing: "Take care of it on your own," he said, and walked away.

(That night, when Battler hugged her from behind and, mouth pressed to the nape of her neck, started rubbing himself against her, Beato pushed him off the bed and said: "Take care of it on your own".)

Unfortunately, Beatrice's following adventures in the kitchen didn't go much better than this. Not that she tried to cook often, but when she did and the result didn't look too bad – when it didn't look like one huge piece of charcoal – Battler, as stupidly insensitive as he could be at times, did his best to eat everything with a smile on his face (which punctually resulted in stomach cramps, intense pain, and other side effects which changed depending on the ingredients used from time to time). Some part of him just couldn't bear seeing his wife sad because he had refused to eat the food she had spent hours making (that, and he didn't want to be beaten to death by her).

As for the pregnancy, it hadn't been planned. Simply enough, they both liked children, and once they had started living together, having one, or more, of their own became something that they expected to happen at some point. It happened pretty soon, too—not even a year after their marriage… and it wasn't that the thought of becoming parents in a very near future didn't make them nervous (after all, it was thanks to their own childish streak that they got along so well with kids – something that made them much more similar to a couple of overgrown playmates rather than a couple of responsible parents) but they wanted this and they were together, so everything would be alright.

(And to be honest – Gaap once commented – it was a wonder that this hadn't happened back when they were still in high school. Afterwards, Battler glanced nervously around the room several times to make sure that Virgilia wasn't there and couldn't possibly have heard that.)

During the following nine months, quite a few people asked Battler how did he manage living with a hormonal Beatrice without going mad. His answer was that once you got used to living with her, you could basically do anything. The truth – unbeknownst to him – was simply that Beato had him whipped.

After the baby's birth, Battler did his best to be a good father, as he wanted his daughter's childhood to be much more serene than his, but some things were just unnerving: Beatrice loved playing with and dressing up the baby, but when she woke up crying in the middle of the night, it was always Battler who had to take care of her and wait until the child fell asleep again. Even so, it would have been fine, perhaps, if half of the times this happened, Beatrice didn't think of checking on their daughter, successfully managing to wake her up again. Then, of course, when Battler finally crawled into their bed, exhausted and with only three hours of sleep ahead of him before another long day at work, Beato decided that keeping him up another hour or two would be the best idea ever (not that he minded – he really didn't; not until the alarm clock went off – but still…).

And today, even after almost six years of marriage and one kid (a snarky little girl with a cheerful attitude, though a little too sly for her age), they were still able to make each other laugh, cry, blush. Their relationship was lively enough (and both were childish and stubborn enough) to prevent any form of routine from taking over their life together: each day was different, the only constant being each other's company.


	5. spawn

**note** This is a sequel to the previous chapter. Blame Small Bombs for the idea.

* * *

**5.**_ spawn_

"… Is she asleep?"

When Battler nodded, Beatrice sighed, relieved.

The last two weeks had been hell for them: work, unexpected guests with the worst timing possible, and their daughter being even more hyperactive than usual (the fact that her first day as an elementary school student was approaching might have had something to do with this). All of which translated into almost no time at all to spend together. Alone.

Careful not to make any noise and wake their little spawn up, Battler closed the door to their room slowly. He had barely enough time to hear the usual _click_ before Beatrice's mouth covered his, her fingernails already teasing the skin of his stomach beneath the t-shirt he was wearing. This was unexpected: sure, sex and physical contact in general were important in their relationship, as communicating like this was much easier than using words to convey certain feelings for them, but Beato rarely gave into her instincts so eagerly – not because her need was any less pressing than Battler's, but because she loved being the one in control too much.

So yeah, it was unusual, but he surely wasn't going to complain. This was so much better than having to endure her mindgames when he was already hard, Battler thought and smirked against her lips as he felt very clearly Beato's soft curves and warmth pressed against his body.

It was adorable, how she would keep kissing him, hungrily, with a clumsy sort of passion, almost as if they were still teenagers exchanging their first kisses hidden in a dark closet somewhere at school. He broke the kiss and laughed when Beatrice growled in a way that reminded him of an annoyed kitten.

"What," she spat, blue eyes narrowed.

"Bed."

"Mu…" She pouted and tried to kiss him again, but this time her mouth landed on his chin. "Heeey…!"

"I said, bed."

"Ahh, who cares if—Kyaaa!" Beatrice squeaked when Battler lifted her up, his hands digging into the back of her thighs.

"Stop struggling or you'll fall," he warned chuckling. Not that it could have really happened with the way Beatrice kept clinging to him.

Her legs were still tightly wrapped around his waist, when her back finally touched the mattress.

"Ihihi, what is it, Beato? I never saw you as the clingy type but, hey, you look really cute like this…!"

"S-Shut—"

"If only you behaved this way more often…"

"Shut up! I swear I'm never going to let you touch me aga—_ahh_…!" her voice dissolved into a gasp as Battler dipped his fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties.

"You sure you don't want me to touch you anymore?" he asked with a grin. Everything was perfect: their daughter was sound asleep, his wife was under him and there was no way she could stop Battler from doing whatever he wanted or hide how much she wanted him, at this point. Maybe, with a bit of skill and a pinch of luck, he could even get Beato to beg.

"Hnnn… I… I hate you…"

… And she was, in fact, already at her limit. The way her voice was now reduced to a low murmur and her fists clenched around the sheets instead of trying to push away Battler, made this fact very obvious.

If spending another week like this wouldn't have been incredibly frustrating for him as well, Battler would have done it again, just to be able to see Beato so lustful and yet so compliant once more.

He kept looking, mesmerized, as Beatrice closed her eyes and threw her head back, golden hair spread across the mattress. She gasped loudly when he touched her more firmly: her back arched and the short, frilly nightgown she was wearing slid back, revealing her flat stomach and part of her breasts.

"What… ah, what are you staring at…"

"Ihihi, just my sadist of a wife acting like a blushing bride for once." He lowered his face to kiss her navel, and her fingers found his hair, holding tight onto it, almost at once.

"T, That's usually your role, isn't it… Battler…?"

"You bitch…" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess I should really teach you a lesson, huh, Beato?"

"Heh. I'd like to see you try—"

They froze abruptly when they realized that someone was trying to open the door. There was only one person who could have been there, at that time, fighting with a doorknob which was too high for her.

Disentangling themselves from each other in less than three seconds proved to be a quite painful experience (they knocked their foreheads together twice; Beatrice's knee ended up where Battler would have never wanted it, and he accidentally pulled her hair while they tried to hide their disheveled state by hiding under the covers). But it was a necessary evil.

You see, they didn't really want to scar their innocent little girl for life.

"Uh… Since I'll be away all day tomorrow… c-can I sleep here?"

Though still a bit disoriented, they both had to smile at that. It was rare for their daughter to ask for something like that: she was a bit of a tomboy, and also pretty independent for her age.

"Ah, s-sure."

"Of course…"

She climbed on the bed with the help of her parents, and settled between them with an embarrassed smile. Battler and Beato exchanged one last forlorn glance before turning off the lamps on the bedside tables with a sigh and laying down.

Perhaps tomorrow would be different, better. Yeah, they would be alone after all and at this point, all they could do was relax and sleep. What else could happen now?

…

_Clank_.

"… Mom? What was that?"

"… … … N-Nothing at all…! Now sleep or… or you will be too tired tomorrow…!" Beato replied nervously.

She closed her eyes, thinking that in the morning she'd have to wake up and hide those handcuffs before her daughter could see them.

(So Battler had been right when he told her that keeping them under the pillow wasn't a good idea.)

* * *

The new day seemed perfect so far.

Battler had made breakfast for everyone (which meant that while simple, the meal was actually edible), Beatrice had managed to put the handcuffs away in time, and their daughter would be back from the school trip the following day, which meant that their unlucky week was officially over.

Moreover, while still at work, Battler had received an e-mail from his wife telling him that she, too, would be home around lunchtime. This had to be a miracle.

There was no way he could have predicted that things would get even better, and that he would find Beato waiting for him in the kitchen. Completely naked except for the cute apron which Virgilia had bought for her when she had moved in with Battler – and that had never been used for obvious reasons.

"Ihihi, now, this is what I call a surprise," he commented, sitting down on a chair as if to better enjoy the view.

Beatrice huffed and gracelessly plopped onto his lap. "Hmph, I did tell you that I would get home early today…"

True. Except that there was nothing about Beato's e-mail that could have hinted at _this_, but like hell Battler was going to complain.

"… I was just bored, alright? And so I thought that once in a while, I could do something nice for my useless husband. Even if he is, well, useless."

Battler snickered. Adult or not, married or not, she was still such a tsundora. His fingers were clumsy as they undid the knot and tossed away the necktie, a present he had received from Beatrice and their little girl for Father's Day last year, but that was completely understandable given the situation, right? What kind of man would remain indifferent when he had his attractive wife, practically naked, sitting on his lap and looking at him like that?

"Ihihi… For any other loving wife a shoulder massage or a tasty meal would have been 'nice' enough, you know?" he teased. "You're such a shameless pervert…"

"And you are such an ungrateful idiot," she retorted with a wicked grin, quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt and exposing his neck and collarbones. "Kihihihi… However, I did prepare something for you to eat…"

Battler blinked, confused, as Beatrice grabbed a small plate from the nearby table. On it was a rather tall slice of cake, decorated with abundant whipped cream and a bright red strawberry. It looked delicious and of course Battler loved sweets but—

"D, Did you make this?" He knew that if something had been cooked by Beatrice, no matter how good it looked, it was most probably inedible.

Beatrice blushed, frowned, puffed her cheeks and opened her mouth to protest or insult him, but Battler – feeling kinda guilty and not wanting to fight and waste this chance – cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply.

"Just joking," he muttered with his lips still touching hers. "I can't wait to have a bite." But really, at this point neither of them was paying attention to his words anymore: they kissed again, mouths open and suckling noises filling the air. Battler smiled a bit as he noticed how Beato's free hand was now grasping tightly the front of his shirt.

They continued to nip at each other's lips as they slowly broke the kiss.

"Open up and say 'ahh'," Beato instructed. Her voice was breathless and her cheeks flushed, making her look almost frail, but her expression was utterly mischievous.

Grinning, Battler did as he was told, watching through half-lidded eyes as she dipped the strawberry into the whipped cream and brought it to his lips. (Judging from the delicious taste, the cake must have come from Ronove's kitchen.) He had just sunk his teeth into the juicy fruit when Beatrice's mouth covered his and they started fighting for the largest chunk of strawberry, giggling like idiots and occasionally moaning when their bodies brushed together.

"Oi, oi… Wasn't that cake for me anyway?" Battler's hands crawled up her thighs, stopping and curling around her waist. "If you eat too many sweets these will only get fleshier," he added and gave a light squeeze to her hips.

Beatrice blushed again and looked away. "Hm, hmph. It looks like you don't deserve it anyway. You ungrateful idiot…"

"Hey… don't get upset, alright? We're just playing after all, right?" He pushed her close enough to be able to kiss her neck.

She sighed and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders. "Hmn… I'll forgive you… just for this once—Hah—!"

… Sliding his hands under the apron and cupping her breasts probably hadn't been the wisest choice ever: Battler's suit and exposed skin were now smeared with what once was a slice of cake. The plate, instead, was rattling on the floor.

Beato though seemed to have a different opinion on the situation, as she eyed his cream-covered skin with hungry eyes. "Kukuku~ Look at what you have done… Even a little kid wouldn't have made such a mess…"

"You idiot… You were the one holding the pla—nnh…!"

Battler could _hear_ her smile from the way she hummed against his jaw, licking away whipped cream and bits of cake. "But you were the one who distracted me… Kyahaha, you have no self-control, Battleeer… but then again, such a thing is only to be expected from a man like yooouuu…!"

"W, What about you then? Even though you're a woman… you, ah, have no modesty at all…!"

"Kihihi, stop making up excuses like this: it's really pathetic, especially since I know that you don't mind at all~" Her hands slid down his chest to his stomach and then lower, fingers quickly undoing his trousers. "Now shut up and let me take care of you, okay? You can just take a bath later~~"

At those words, Battler's lips slowly curved into a grin. "What if I wanted to take it now?" Beato stopped; blinked. "You could still… take care of me. I need someone to wash my back after all."

"… Kihihihihyahaha! You sure are sly, Battler… But you see, I have no reason to help you bathe when I've already been so nice to you… Kukuku~ Maybe… you should be the one taking care of me now… It's only fair, don't you thiiiink?"

Battler's grin widened and he stood up, still holding the other in his arms. "Ihihihi, sounds good to me! After all this means that I get to rub those boobs of yours, too."

"What a perverted… undignified man…!" she said laughing, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

So, they both thought on their way to the bathroom, this was perfect. After two whole weeks – fourteen days, 336 hours and countless curses muttered out of frustration – they were finally going to spend some time together alone and _have fun_.

Maybe, Battler thought, later they could go out and have dinner at a nice restaurant or they could stay in bed and eat what was left of that cake—

_Pin pon_.

The two looked at each other, eyes wide. That wasn't their doorbell. Of course it wasn't. Who could ever—

"Mooom, daaad! Are you there? The trip was cancelled and sensei took us home."

They could only pray that this wouldn't be the prelude to another long, unlucky week.


End file.
